


This Life

by JoJo



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Community: mag7daybook, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 00:23:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4939603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/pseuds/JoJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris, after the guns fall silent</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Life

**Author's Note:**

> for the prompt - "This life would kill me if I didn't have you" (thank you, randi!)

It made him sick, the sound of gunfire. Well, not even the sound. More the clouds of silence it left behind. Chris’s finger was crooked so hard against the trigger he didn’t think he could ever let go, relax. The metal burned against his skin like a brand. His mouth was dry, the air was full of dust, and the dust was full of blood.

He rose from cover, knees stiff. Panic welled in his stomach and the sunlight felt too bright, too blinding.

Bodies in the gulley. Dead men cut down. So damned many of them, and that last one, that one he’d taken down with a head shot, he’d had terror in his eyes. Just at the very last second he hadn’t wanted to die but Chris had shot him anyway, because that was his job. Didn’t deserve any pity for they never gave any, but still they were dead. Still broken open and sightless and having no chance for anything anymore, not redemption, not forgiveness, not justice. 

Chris lifted his chin. He saw Vin touch one with the toe of his boot, an exploratory, but still somehow respectful nudge. Buck, hands on hips, shirtfront spattered in blood, was looking around. Counting. His body language was tense but controlled. 

Head swimming, Chris looked upwards, saw the crown of Josiah’s hat in the rocks. He could hear Nathan talking, worried, could hear J.D. too. The kid’s voice sounded faint, as if he was in shock, or hurt.

Chris licked his dry, cracked lips, tried to slide his pistol back in the holster.

And he felt sick, sick with it all.

Any moment now they’d all be looking to him. He didn’t want them to, for he didn’t deserve it.

His hand, heavy as lead, tried to re-holster the gun once more. To re-set the whole damned cycle so it could all happen again. His legs were ready to buckle, to tumble him into the dust too and he could have just laid there, unmoving, until the cold got him, or the buzzards, or the next crowd of bandits.

Then a shadow passed across the sun. The weight of his hand was lifted and he felt the gun guided into the leather, slide home with a familiar ‘plop’. There was a pressure against his chilled skin and the heat stayed and rested there for a moment or two.

“Don’t you go falling down on me now.” 

Relief, big enough to make his throat clog, rolled over Chris at the touch, the accent, the nearness of the body shielding him. For a moment he savored it, let it speak of whiskey, warm skin, soft lips. Then he altered his stance, let his legs hold him more firmly.


End file.
